Shady Ship Ch. 02

1. I'm sorry if this is more story than erotica. I never intended for this to be super hot from the beginning, unlike my other stories on here. Unlike my SaviorSamurai account's stories too.

2. Since there won't be a lot of chapters, this story will be pretty fast-paced.

3. I assure you, each character will get their times to shine.

4. Lots of crazy unbelievable events may happen in this, but please cooperate with me and suspend your disbelief as much as Family Guy's love for cutaways.

*****

Irene Bianchi lied in a bunk bed, a sheet shrouding her body, Tucker's snores above her meeting her ears.

An empty bed was above Tucker's, unoccupied, like Irene's love life.

Carlos had decided to make the group sleep for two hours before hunting the ship's rumored gold.

But Carlos was a leader whose command went heard by Irene, but not accepted.

Irene longed to explore the ship by herself, find the gold before Carlos did. Take some for herself, with Carlos being unaware.

It was as risky as masturbating in the bathroom with the lights off, door unlocked, relatives chattering inside the home.

But eighteen-year old Irene had a Italian mafia man as her dad.

A Italian mobster's daughter wasn't meant to be a personified pussy.

She had to take risks.

After peeking through a gap she made between her bed sheet and bed, Irene stared through her large-framed glasses at Jenna, who slept in the bed above the brown-haired Stacie's.

There had been moments involving Stacie holding onto Jenna more times than Stacie held her own boyfriend, who was no longer Jenna's lover.

Irene shook her head. She longed to say, "Don't fall in love with her, darling."

The glasses-donning, Italian-American shifted her focus to Devon, the eighteen-year old Black boy who slept with a silver revolver in his pocket.

Devon had been the person walking closest to Carlos, the two gun-toting minority males the greatest protectors the group had.

Regardless, Irene would use Devon's revolver to send a bullet penetrating into each person's skull on the ship without hesitation, if it meant insuring her own survival.

She had to check on Carlos, determine if he was awake or asleep.

The adult in the group made his younger companions sleep in one of the body bag gray-walled, body bag gray-floored bunk rooms, while he enjoyed the supposed lavish environment the captain's quarters gave him.

Irene filled her mind with this fact as she took quick steps, gray walls not far from either side of her.

The door leading into a main corridor was open, ruptured with piercing grooves Irene didn't avert her attention to, since she was intent on reaching the captain's quarters as quick as possible.

Goosebumps resuming their eruptions against her skin, Irene was aware she needed her coat off if she had to make the moment involving grabbing Carlos's cock happen sooner.

At an hall's end, stood a closed brown door. Two blue vases were against the wall the door was installed in. The phrase "Captain's Quarters" was designed onto a metal rectangle secured against the door.

"Perfect." Irene said in Italian, speaking low.

The girl took quicker steps.

When she stood near the door, which was the sole barrier between her and Carlos's beloved space, Irene filled her voice with false arousal while saying, "Carlos, are you awake? I'm too bored to sleep."

Horny too.

But that would be a lie.

No, Irene's false lust would lead to seducing a woke Carlos. She had to see the man with his guard off, as vulnerable as an upside down tortoise.

"Irene, welcome." Carlos said after he swung open the door, dressed in a captain's white outfit and hat, not wasting time to dress himself as an authority figure, as if it was his sole goal in life he had an insatiable urge to complete.

"You want sex." Carlos said when he sat beside the girl on the red sofa. His shoe bottoms against red carpet, Carlos did not speak again.

The door closed, locked, Irene nodded before saying, "Yes. I want to make love to you."

Carlos nodded.

The floor lamp's dim light gave his captain's hat a brighter shade. He gestured to the open book on the desk pushed against the wall.

"Get the book." Carlos said, his voice resembling a person trying not to laugh while pranking their cousin.

Irene flashed Carlos a grin.

Not because she intended on making love with him in an moment that would lead to them becoming as much a couple as Kyle and Amanda, but because Carlos was almost in her plan's trap.

Her body filling with excited, heated warmth, Irene stood.

She trained her eyes on the open book resting on the desk.

Its pages cast in the dim light radiating from the room's lamp, Irene filled her mind with the fact the bed was in the opposite direction.

Her plan was still going well so far.

When the book was much less far than before, Irene grabbed it with her olive-toned fingers.

Hands slammed against her hips.

"Car-" Irene started saying.

"Shut the fuck up and read, bitch." Carlos said.

He unbuckled Irene's belt, forced her blue jeans and pink panties down.

Irene's legs trembled.

She emitted an shaking breath, having been ignorant to the fact Carlos would make her pussy wet.

"Oh, God. Va bene." Irene said before focusing on the book's words. "In the year 2001, the World Trade Center-"

Carlos drove his throbbing cock inside Irene's ass.

She screamed in agony.

The book dropped onto the desk before Irene slammed her palms and fingers against the desk's brown, hard wood.

"FUCK!" Irene said in an loud tone, which made Carlos yank her long black hair.

As Irene had the sensation resembling tiny scissors cutting slits into her anus, she listened as Carlos said, "Read!"

Warm tears blurred Irene's vision.

A Mexican cock in her ass as powerful as her courage, Irene brought the book into her hands again.

Carlos's hips collided with her ass cheeks.

Each time Carlos's warm hips met Irene's precious ass, the girl groaned in pain.

Her breasts shaking within her black dress shirt and bra, the crucifix dangling from her neck swaying, Irene panted like a dog before saying, "The World Trade Center was attacked by-FUCK! T-terrorists. Oh, God! You're really FUCKING MY ASS HARD! STOP!"

His cock sliding through Irene's anus and out, giving her a painal session becoming pleasure at an torturous pace, Carlos slammed his hands against Irene's shoulders.

"I would if you weren't loving this. Say you love it, spaghetti-eating whore." Carlos said, adding race play into the ass fuck session.

A sweat drop launched off Irene's forehead when Carlos gave a thrust that made Irene fall forward against the wall.

Her forehead collided with the wall, but Carlos did not stop fucking.

The brutality made Irene's pussy leak.

Again.

Smashed between the girl's hands and the wall, the 9/11 book would have been an witness if it was alive.

A witness to the ass fucking Carlos gave Irene, which made the girl moan in pleasure before her pussy splashed wetness against her own legs and Carlos's thick ones.

"FUCK! FUUUCK!" Irene said in an scream.

The book dropped.

Carlos laughed.

His cock exploded, blasting heated, white cum into the ass in front of him.

The Mexican pulled out, pulled his pants and boxers up.

He observed Irene shuffling with trembling legs towards the porthole in the room, as if she had the overwhelming urge to view anything not involved with Carlos.

Without trying to remove the deep cum slipping against her anus, Irene pulled her jeans and panties up, gripped her crucifix while whispering an prayer in Italian.

Irene would relish in sweet warmth each time she tried convincing herself it was impossible to experience shame.

She rubbed her cheeks, said, in her mind, "I'm still a virgin. He only had anal sex with you. Over a desk. While you had to read a 9/11 book. Oh, fuck my life."

"Spaghetti-eater!" Carlos said, which made Irene turn to him at an fast pace, as if he had told her he would be slitting her family's throats tomorrow. "Leave."

Not intending on making Carlos clench his fists with anger from impatience, aware Carlos had an higher chance at sleeping earlier than he intended, Irene nodded before taking quick steps towards the bedroom door.

Carlos scoffed before saying, "Damn me for saying this, but thanks for coming to see me, Irene. And good job."

Good job for reading parts of an 9/11 book while an older Mexican fucked your ass from behind on board an abandoned ship while he donned an captain's uniform when he was far from being an captain.

Good job, Italian whore.